


You Still Look Like a Movie / You Still Sound Like a Song

by shilo1364



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Class Reunions, Flashbacks, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Minister for Magic Harry Potter, POV Harry Potter, Past Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pining, Pining Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, School Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shilo1364/pseuds/shilo1364
Summary: Prompt: When We Were Young, by AdeleHarry Potter doesn't want to attend his ten-year Hogwarts Reunion Ball. He doesn't want to dance. And he *definitely* doesn't want to remember his former lover, Draco Malfoy.Of course, his life has never really been dictated by what he wants.





	You Still Look Like a Movie / You Still Sound Like a Song

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my lovely alpha [Amahami](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amahami/pseuds/Amahami) and beta Violetclarity!

Harry leaned against the cool stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, thinking that the music was too loud and the bass turned up far too high. He could feel it thrumming through the flagstones beneath his feet, vibrating through the stone at his back as Celestina Warbeck’s voice crooned. He winced at the syrupy sweet lyrics, wishing he was anywhere else. Hermione had talked him into attending tonight — badgered him into it, more like, he thought grumpily.

_He was working late, finishing up some paperwork, when Hermione stormed into their shared office and leaned over his desk, thrusting a crumpled piece of parchment in front of his face._

_A piece of parchment he recognized, as he’d crumpled it himself and thrown it in the bin that morning, moments after the owl had dropped it on his desk._

_He stared up at her, stubbornly silent in the face of her indignation. She glanced over her shoulder at the interested faces of their coworkers peering in their open office door, then slammed it shut with a wave of her wand, turning back to him to whisper-yell, “What sort of message would it send if_ Harry Potter _,_ Savior of the Wizarding World _and the_ public face of the Ministry _were to skip his ten-year Hogwarts Reunion Ball?”_

_“Hermione--” he started, but she cut him off before he could get out any excuses._

_“You know there’s been unrest lately. You’ve helped me hold this sodding world together for the past ten years — you know the public needs this. Needs to see their leaders united.  Needs to see them having a little fun and renewing old bonds.”_

_She took a breath, let it out slowly, unclenching her fists. “You promised me, the last time you skipped out of a press conference and left me to fend for myself. The next time I asked, you said, you’d be there. Well, I’m asking now.”_

He glanced around, irritated, as someone jostled him back to the present. The music blaring through the magically-amplified speakers had changed to a fast, fist-pumping beat. The other dancers had broken out of one another’s arms and were jumping up and down, yelling along with the lyrics.

He grimaced and turned away again; he hated the Weird Sisters even more than he hated Celestina Warbeck.

“Harry,” Hermione said, sagging back against the wall beside him with a small sigh of relief and kicking off her black velvet heels, “this is a _dance._ You’re supposed to be, well, dancing.” One strap of her dress — black velvet, to match the shoes — slipped down her shoulder and she sighed in annoyance as she pushed it up again, muttering a quick spell to make it stay.

“I don’t see you dancing,” he returned, knowing as he said it that it was petty. Her face was still flushed from dancing with Ron, which she’d been doing from practically the moment they’d arrived until Seamus had dragged him away to settle some bet.

Hermione sighed and took a sip of her drink.

“Just for that,” she said, nudging his shoulder again, “I’m keeping this instead of giving it to you like I was planning to.” Then she turned to face him and her hair, which she was currently wearing piled atop her head, cut off his view of the crowd.

“I mean it, Harry,” she said, voice dropping lower. “I know you’re not in the mood for dancing. But you need this.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“It’s been _years_ ,” she said, exasperated now. “Harry, I love you, but you have to move on. He’s not coming back.”

Harry winced, her words cutting as deep as they had the first time she’d said them, or any of the hundreds of times since. “He said—”

“I know what he said, Harry,” she said, more softly this time, “but it’s been five years. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”

He turned away from her, staring unseeing over the crowd without replying. He couldn’t reply. He’d tried to move on. He _had._ But everything reminded him of… He shied away from the thought, frantically blinking back the tears that had sprung to his eyes unbidden. He needed a distraction.

“Harry!” a voice called, and he looked up in relief. Maybe he’d get his distraction after all. Someone was striding toward him, a welcoming smile on her face. He didn’t immediately recognize her, but some part of his brain catalogued her features, noting them dispassionately: her warm golden-brown skin and luxurious dark hair, cascading in waves down her back. Her vibrant turquoise dress and rhinestone-studded heels clicking over the dance floor as she approached.

“Parvati,” he said, her name coming to him just as she reached him.

She smiled. “I was afraid you didn’t recognize me.” He thought idly that her accent had changed, gained a bit of a musical lilt.

“But of course,” she added with a laugh, “ _everyone_ recognizes you. You look just like you did the last time I saw you.”

Harry winced again. He’d not seen Parvati since they were eighteen, newly graduated from a re-opened Hogwarts. She’d left the country soon after, for her job. He couldn’t recall now what it was. Something to do with diplomacy and international relations, he thought.

“Enjoying our ten-year Reunion Ball?” she asked. “They’ve certainly gone all-out with the decorations.” She waved around the Great Hall, looking oddly empty in the centre with the House tables shoved against the walls to create a dance floor. Disco balls and floating candles hovered above them, seemingly suspended from the starry night sky.

Harry tried to force a smile. Hermione had wandered back over to where Ron and Seamus were now arm wrestling, heels dangling from her fingers as she walk-slid across the floor in stockinged feet, so Parvati had been useful for something. But now he just wanted her to get bored and leave him be.

She held out her arm, beckoning as the song changed. “Come on; for old time’s sake?”

Harry hesitated, casting about for a way to get out of it, but while he was thinking Parvati grabbed his wrist and tugged him onto the dance floor.

“I’m not—“ he tried, but the music suddenly grew louder, drowning out his words.

“What?” she shouted at him.

He sighed, letting it go. One dance wouldn’t kill him. At least Parvati wouldn’t expect him to be a good dancer.

She turned out to be a good enough dancer for them both. Harry let his mind drift as she spun him around the floor, finding it easier to keep from stepping on her feet when he wasn’t thinking about it. As it always did these days, his mind drifted to Malfoy.

Malfoy would never have let him get away with standing in the corner all evening.

He’d have had Harry out here, on the dance floor, from the moment they arrived, laughing as he alternately spun him and saved him from falling, ice-blond hair flying around his face and grey eyes sparkling…

_It was five years after they’d graduated when Harry saw Malfoy again. He showed up at the Ministry’s Christmas Ball that year, uninvited and unannounced. Harry spluttered into his drink, spraying wine all over a high-ranking member of the Wizengamot at the sight of him walking through the room._

_Hermione had put him in charge of the guest list that year. He’d have known if Malfoy’s name had been on it. But the shock of it, of seeing his pointy face and pale blond hair, chased every thought of throwing him out clean out of Harry’s head._

_Malfoy spotted him, then. He handed his wineglass to a server without looking at him, gliding across the floor toward Harry as if he owned it. As if_ he _and not Harry were Minister of Magic. Well, co-Minister, Harry amended. Hermione would never forgive him for leaving her out, even in his own head._

_“Potter,” Malfoy said, gracious smile fixed firmly on his face._

_“Malfoy,” he returned. He could think of no other words, nothing that would make this moment make sense._

_Malfoy smirked at him then. “Dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand, more command than request._

_And Harry was so flummoxed, he accepted._

Harry started, nearly tripping Parvati as his body jerked. He could have sworn he’d seen—

He stared, willing the writhing bodies between him and the far side of the room to move out of his way. That flash of pale hair. It had looked like…

It was.

Malfoy was there, spinning Pansy across the floor as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked perfect, Harry thought bitterly, like he always did. He was smiling at something Pansy had said as he pulled her close, and Harry couldn’t look away.

It had been five years. Five _fucking_ years without a word, since Malfoy had walked out his door.

Parvati turned to look in the direction he was facing, frowning. “Harry?” she asked, pitching her voice over the music. “What are you staring at?”

_It didn’t take long for them to fight. It was what they did best. Harry wasn’t even sure he knew_ why _they were fighting, as Malfoy slung cutting remarks at him, and he parried them right back._

_They’d been dating for only a few weeks, stuck somewhere between the promise of New Year’s and the sappy mush of Valentine’s. Harry was almost glad he wouldn’t have to figure out if Malfoy would want a Valentine’s gift, or what that gift should be. Almost._

_Then Malfoy stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He hadn’t meant to let it go this far. He’d been so swept up in the whirlwind that was Malfoy, that he’d not let himself think about what he would do when he was dropped back into reality._

_He spent the night huddled on the livingroom floor, back pressed to the wall and arms wrapped around his knees, cursing himself for a dozen kinds of fool. Only he didn’t know if he was a fool for letting himself get wrapped up in Malfoy in the first place, or for letting him go._

_Malfoy let himself quietly back in to Harry’s apartment the next morning, armed with coffee and a plate of pastries, and lowered himself to the floor beside Harry. He didn’t apologize, not in words, but the food and his presence were apology enough for someone who’d never apologized in his life. He’d spent the night at Blaise’s, he said, huddled sleepless on the couch. He didn’t look Harry in the eye, but he laced their fingers together, and it was enough._

Harry turned back to Parvati swiftly, shaking his head to jar the memories loose. “No one. Nothing. Let’s just keep dancing.”

He tried to focus on the steps, on her face, on the jeweled earrings dancing beneath her ears and sparkling in the light of the floating candles. But the image of Malfoy burned in his mind, setting fire to any attempt at rational thought.

Malfoy was here.

_That first fight hadn’t been their last. But there was a pattern to them, a dance they both knew. They raged. Malfoy stormed out. The next day he returned with a wordless apology._

_Their last fight was like any other, and Harry no longer felt the drop of his stomach as keenly. He knew Malfoy would be back._

_Only Malfoy hadn’t come back._

_Harry waited all that next day and the one after that, jumping at every sound. But Malfoy had never returned._

Part of Harry was still waiting, had jumped to attention and was now begging him to go over there. But …

Malfoy looked happy. He may as well have had a spotlight on him; Harry didn’t think he was the only one staring. God, he looked good. His body was still lithe, his suit perfectly tailored, every line accentuating his lean frame, his long legs, and Harry missed him _so_ much.

_He told Harry that he’d always come back. That first time he walked out, and Harry just about went crazy when he realized what he’d lost. Malfoy walked back in the door the next morning as if nothing had happened. And then he promised—_

“Harry,” Parvati said, as the music grew quieter, drawing his attention back to her. “Who is…” Her voice trailed off as she glanced over and saw him. “Oh Merlin,” she said, putting a hand over her mouth to hide her giggles, “talk about deja vu.”

Harry frowned, tugging his attention from Malfoy. “What are you talking about?”

“You were staring at Malfoy the whole Yule Ball too. Don’t you remember? I thought you were just a terrible dancer — and you were, don’t get me wrong; you still are — but you weren’t paying attention to the steps because you were watching Malfoy.”

Harry flushed. “I was not. I didn’t even like him then.”

“And you do now?” she arched an eyebrow, clearly expecting him to laugh; he looked away.

“Harry?” she asked, frowning at him like he was a puzzle whose pieces didn’t quite fit. “What is it? What am I missing?”

“Nothing,” he said, turning resolutely away from Malfoy. “It’s nothing.”

“But—“

“No. I’m sorry Parvati, but I can’t talk about this right now.”

The disco ball flashed above them, sending sparks of light skittering across the faces of the dancers, across Malfoy dipping Pansy dramatically, his hair flopping over his face in the way that Harry had always loved, and he found himself blinking back tears. He wouldn’t cry, he told himself. Not where everyone could see.

“Excuse me,” he said, turning hastily away from her. “I need to go.”

“Harry?” she called, but he was already moving, crashing heedlessly through the other dancers and ignoring their protests. He had to get to the bathroom. He could hide there, until this ghastly night was over and he could go back to pretending he didn’t care that Malfoy had apparently returned. That he was happy. Without Harry.

That was the part that hurt the most, he thought, furiously blinking back the tears that threatened. Malfoy obviously didn’t feel the same way he did. Maybe he never had. Maybe it had all been in Harry’s head, and that’s why Malfoy hadn’t come back. Maybe Malfoy had never cared like he had, had never let his heart get involved.

Harry hadn’t meant to let his heart get involved, either. But Malfoy had always been able to get under his skin.

He thrust open the stall door, locking it behind him, and slumped onto the toilet with his head in his hands. He would wait here until the dance was over, and then he would leave with Ron and Hermione and never look back. God, but he’d been so _stupid._ He should have known Malfoy could never love him.

Someone rapped impatiently on the door, interrupting his self-loathing tirade. “Excuse me, but are you planning to be in there all night? _Some_ of us actually need to use the bathroom.”

Harry muttered an apology when he saw the line that had formed in the bathroom and slunk back into the Great Hall, hoping to stay out of sight. He didn’t want Malfoy to see him. Didn’t want to see the confirmation in his eyes of all Harry’s fears: that he’d moved on and Harry meant nothing to him now. He could just see it — that practiced sneer that said Harry was beneath him, was _nothing._ He didn’t think he could take it.

Maybe he could just leave. He could apologize to Hermione later, and make it up to her however she liked. He’d offer to do her paperwork for the next week — no, the next _month_. Anything would be worth not having to see Malfoy again.

Even as he thought it, he found his eyes scanning the room, searching for a flash of blond hair. He couldn’t help himself. Even though he knew it was a terrible idea, he _had_ to see him again. Had to memorize him, so he’d have something to hold on to on all the long, lonely nights alone.

His eyes found Malfoy unerringly through the crowd. Laughing, now, as he twirled a breathless Pansy under his arm. Then he looked up, and his eyes met Harry’s, and the world stopped.

Malfoy wobbled mid-spin, letting go of Pansy’s arm. She only just kept herself from falling, but neither of them glanced at her. Malfoy’s eyes widened, and he started moving, shoving through the crowd until he was right in front of Harry.

Harry stood frozen as Malfoy reached out and then hesitated just before touching his face.

“You’re here,” Malfoy breathed. Then he seemed to catch himself. “Are you — are you with someone?” His eyes darted to the side as if he didn’t dare look in Harry’s eyes as he waited for the answer.

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t open his mouth, for fear of the words building up on his traitorous tonge.

Malfoy bit his lip, a gesture Harry knew well, and then held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

Harry stared at him. The words refused to sink in. They floated, completely meaningless between them.

“Dance…” he said slowly, trying to understand. Malfoy didn’t want him anymore. So why?

“Harry,” Malfoy said, voice dropping an octave, “Please. Just one dance.”

Harry nodded wordlessly, still trying to process. Then Malfoy took his hand and he felt a shock at the contact, sparks traveling across their skin, between their hands, and then they were spinning, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The world faded around them until it was just them. Just them, and the music, and a dance that Harry prayed would never end.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Malfoy whispered, eyes too bright, and Harry felt his walls crumble.

Tears sprang to his eyes, threatening to spill over, and he whispered, “I’ve missed you too.” The words tumbled out of him then. “Why — Why did you leave? Didn’t you want me? I’ve been waiting —”

Malfoy yanked him close until their bodies were pressed close together, then leaned in and kissed him. A long, lingering kiss that told Harry he’d missed him more than words ever could. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling back slightly. “I should never have left. I wanted to prove to myself that I could live without you.”

“And?” Harry whispered, not daring to breathe.

“And I’ve wished every second that I was with you. You infuriate me, but it turns out I _can’t_ live without you. I came here tonight hoping you’d be here, hoping you’d want me back.”

Harry sucked in a breath, shocked and relieved and confused, and then he tripped over Malfoy’s shoe and lost his balance. He wobbled, flailing his arms, and then he felt himself falling.

Malfoy caught him. “And the first thing we’re going to do is get you dancing lessons,” he said, laughing breathlessly.

Harry felt his lips curving up. “The first thing?” he asked.

Malfoy’s gaze heated, burning into him. “Well. Maybe not the _first_ thing,” he allowed.

And then he pulled Harry to his chest and kissed him again, and it felt like falling, and flying, and Harry gave himself up to it, succumbing to the music and the magic of the night that he could suddenly feel all around him.

And they danced.


End file.
